


McMercy Prompts

by LegendaryBard



Series: Ten One-Word Prompts [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, light gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 11:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11759091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendaryBard/pseuds/LegendaryBard
Summary: Some short little McMercy prompts, based on a random word generator.





	McMercy Prompts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bitterhealer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bitterhealer).



MORBID

“Ain’t that a little morbid?” McCree peers at the body she’s handling, clinical and swift.

“Considering you’re the one who put the bullet in him…” She trails off, golden brow cocked. “You’re aware that when you kill people,  _ someone  _ has to examine and move them, right?” 

“No ‘fence, doc, but I  _ make  _ bodies. I don’t clean ‘em up.” 

Mercy sighs and peels off her gloves. 

 

SERENITY

Something about morning in Gibraltar always makes Mercy feel… Well… Serene. The state of being half-dressed, blond hair escaping the messy ponytail from yesterday, and the sight of the sun rising from the sea- it’s  _ peaceful _ . 

She stands on the edge of a balcony, overlooking the Mediterranean, cup of coffee in hand. She’s alone, up until she hears the  _ flop flop flop  _ of tired feet padding up to her. 

“What’cha doin’ out here?” McCree rumbles. He is not an early riser, and if it could be helped, he would sleep until noon. 

“Enjoying the sunrise. It’s… Peaceful, out here, before everyone wakes up.” 

The irascible, persistent gulls are roosting on the cliffsides. They haven’t begun their incessant squawking and begging for food. The waves lap at the golden-rocked shore, and it’s quiet, and still. So peaceful. So  _ lovely.  _

An arm wraps around Mercy’s waist and McCree buries his face into her shoulder from behind. His beard tickles her bare skin.

“You know, the bed’s pretty serene too. ‘Specially if you’re sleepin’ in it.” He mumbles into her back. She laughs. 

 

WEAK

Never let it be said that Doctor Ziegler is weak. 

There’s fire in her blue eyes, blood in her shoulder-length hair, and a new coppery scent. Her hands are clenched tightly around her staff, which she had just used to cave a man’s skull in by whacking him over the head with it over and over again. 

She moves aside the corpse and runs up to McCree- she wastes no time in rummaging through her pockets, fumbling for sanitary wipes and surgical thread and pliers and needles- 

“You killed him,” McCree coughs. He’s not spitting up blood, probably a good sign. 

“Yes, I did,” She says, voice tight.

“You beaned him in the fuckin’  head, Doc. Like… Four times.” 

“I don’t have my pistol. I had to improvise.” 

McCree hisses, twitches, as she wipes away the blood on his chest.

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Watchin’ you kill that fucker? Gl-or-ee-us. Think he thought you were weak, weren’t a threat.” A crooked smile. “I know for a fuckin’ fact that you ain’t, Doc.” 

“McCree-  _ Jesse-  _ I don’t think you should be talking-” 

“Shhh. This is important.” A beat of pause. “I love you, Ang.” 

Her face softens and McCree, content, settles in for his impromptu surgery. 

 

FREAKISH

“Oh,” Angela looks up, brows arching, as McCree walks in. 

He’d lost his arm just a few weeks ago- he’d gone through a period of absolute refusal to get fitted with a prosthetic. She did her best to persuade him, and a few days ago, he had just barely reluctantly agreed.

His new arm is- It’s an exact replica of his old arm. His flesh arm. Synthetic skin, moles and hairs and all. 

“I hate it.” McCree says, dropping down on the couch next to her. “Touch it, Ang.” 

She touches it.

“Doesn’t feel right, huh?” 

She doesn’t say anything. His skin is cold- too cool- and too elastic, too soft, too jellied. There’s no firm press of muscle anymore. The tattoo is gone, too. 

“It’s freakish.” McCree’s gaze is intently focused somewhere between his feet. “Don’t need to tell me that.” 

“I don’t think it’s freakish.” She says. “I worked with Genji. I was his  _ doctor.  _ We tried realistic prosthetics, and he wasn’t happy with-” 

“The way they looked? Yeah. I’m startin’ to get it. I… Look. Don’t’cha go laughin’, but I was thinking about- Talking to Torbjorn.” 

“Torbjorn?” 

“Yeah. Make me somethin’ metal. Somethin’  _ cool.”  _

“With a skull on it?” Mercy suggests, covering her mouth slightly to hide a snort.

“Yeah- Yeah, fuck yeah!” He gathers more steam as he thinks about it. “I’m broken, Ang. I lost my arm an’ I ain’t gettin’ it back, so why do I gotta pretend that I still have it? I’m gonna get me a cool, badass robot arm.” 

He gets up, excitedly, and extends his flesh hand to her. She takes it. 

“Let’s go talk to Torb,” McCree says, a determined burn in his gaze.

She hasn’t seen him this enthusiastic in weeks. 

It’d better be a really cool arm. 

 

HAPPY

“FUCK YEAH, WOOOO!” 

McCree plummets down- Mercy’s heart is fluttering in her chest as she watches him dive from the top of the cliff all the way to the bottom. Cliffjumping, the favorited activity for adrenaline junkies in Gibraltar.

There’s a MASSIVE splash, and in a second, McCree’s head bobs up, grinning broadly.

“ANG JUMP DOWN, WATER’S GREAT!” 

She takes a running start- before her nerves can tell her to stop. 

She hurtles over the edge of the cliff, poised angelically in space for just a moment.

And then she descends.

“AAAAAAAAAAA _ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”  _

Her scream is of both fear and delight, and she hits the water. 

McCree is there in a second, laughing, and when she surfaces, so is she. 

 

CHALLENGE

A disgruntled Genji is rubbing his arm as he saunters away from the table. McCree is tipped back in his chair, casual, beaming like the cat who’s got the cream.

He’s set up an arm wrestling table, and organized a betting pool. If he wins, the loser owes him ten credits. If he loses, he owes the winner twenty credits.

A group of recruits has spread around him to spectate- Fareeha among the number. Thus far he’s at 15 wins, zero losses, and he’s fairly cocky. 

Angela sits down in the chair opposite, and sticks out her arm. McCree eyes her-  _ amused,  _ a  _ what are you playing at,  _ but he obliges her and clasps her hand in his.

Before they can begin, she darts forward and kisses him. He freezes for a solid second, and doesn’t register that she’s still arm wrestling until his arm thunks against the table.

“I win!” She crows. He passes over the twenty credits and rubs his face, trying not to blush.

 

 

HOMESICK

Two seventeen year olds, disillusioned to the world. To the violence and cruelty and suffering that could be- and was- inflicted.

They sit underneath the stars. McCree has a cigarette in hand, but it’s unlit and he doesn’t have a lighter. Angela is beside him, legs folded underneath her. There’s an unspoken, friendly silence between them. They both have stressful jobs. Both need an escape. And a quiet night- two teenagers, together- under the smattering of stars in the heavens was just what they needed.

“Do you ever get homesick?” Angela is the first to break the silence. She immediately realizes this was probably a bad topic- he was in a gang, for Pete’s sake, he was probably glad to get away-

“Don’t miss home. Just miss people who were there.” 

“Like who?” 

“My ma.” 

“Is she still…?” 

“No. Died before I joined Deadlock. Was old enough where it still hurt, though.” 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve-” 

“S’okay. You ever get homesick?” 

“No. I had a… A rigid, kind of family. Mom was controlling. Dad was distant.” 

“I hate adults.” Jesse says, in a final, closing sort of way. “Fuckin’ wish it was just you, just me.” 

“Sometimes,” Angela reclines back a bit. “I do too.” 

 

TRUST

“I trusted you!” McCree screeches. “I trusted you, Angela, I  _ trusted you!  _ You have ruined the sanctimony of my home-” 

She presses her freezing cold hands on his back and he shrieks like he’s being electrocuted. 

“Stop, stop! How didja even get them so cold!? Did you put them in the freezer or something!?”

Her devious smile tells him all he needs to know.

 

DECADE

“HAPPY TENTH ANNIVERSARY!”

The whole gang’s here. Lieutenant Reinhardt, Captain Amari, Strike-Commander Morrison, Commander Reyes, Genji, Torbjorn- the whole group. 

Gabriel slaps Jesse on the back, and gives him the greatest gift he’s ever received.

Jesse slips on the shiny BAMF belt buckle and feels immediately at peace, as though this were how the universe had intended him to be. He and Gabriel exchange warm nods- Gabriel is not a man of words, but nevertheless has great affectionate feelings for people who’ve spent ten years on his payroll. 

Gabriel, content with the reception of his gift, drifts over to Morrison, undoubtedly to complain about what a pain in the ass Jesse has been over the years. 

“I got you something,” Angela comes up to him next.

“Yeah? Me too.” This party is for both of them- It’s  _ her  _ tenth anniversary on Overwatch’s payroll as well.

They end up getting one another the same thing- Swiss chocolates. There’s a laugh about the coincidence, but after the party wraps up, they go back to Angela’s room, flip on some dumb movie, and eat them together.

Ten year anniversary of being at Overwatch, four year anniversary when dating. 

“To five years,” Jesse says, and Mercy giggles, popping a truffle in his mouth.

 

HAIRLESS

“No,” Angela says, voice half horrified.

“I had to.” McCree rubs his jaw, self-conscious.

He’s clean shaven. He’s clean shaven and Angela almost wants to cry, because without his beard he looks… Well. So… Not McCree. He looks  _ silly,  _ in a completely different way than his usual scruff made him look. 

“I am so, so sorry,” She can’t help the giggle in her voice. “Oh, oh my god-” 

“Hey, hey, bright side- at least my kisses won’t tickle anymore?” He tries.

“Oh- oh-” She’s laughing now, she can’t help it. “ _ Mein Gott,  _ McCree-” 

He tips the hat down low on his face and she gives him a hug, still giggling into his shoulder.

 


End file.
